April in NYC
by AdenaMentzel
Summary: ONESHOT about April's life in NYC. My take on her. I hope you like it. Please review.


**AN: Took a stab at writing April. I hope you like it. Please review! Oneshot.**

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I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a hooker.

I am a junkie now, and I suspect that the two are not mutually exclusive.

It was a waste of a life, really, on normal societal terms, but then again, I always felt that I was special in the sense that I was extraordinarily different for a reason. I don't know, I always related to counter-culture movements more than the normal societal expectations, but never completely agreed with anything.

In high school I decided that I was never going to conform to anything. I was a free spirit, and I believed what I wanted to believe, period, end of story. I was...more or less a hippie, actually. If only I had been born earlier, right? Well, I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Free love, make love not war, peace now, freedom now, man. Free your mind with LSD, walk barefoot on cement, care to share some Mary J? I was class valedictorian. I lived in Scarsdale. Not exactly your average kid.

When I left Scarsdale for the big city, I didn't think I'd have to face anyone I knew there again. Of course, most people would say my journey wasn't very well thought out. I begged to differ. My parents let me go to the city only because I agreed to go to NYU. Not a big deal, I like to learn, whatever. I refused to stay in a dorm, although technically I did because my parents paid for room and board. Whatever. In reality, I walked the streets at night. I slept on park benches or in random people's beds after giving love to them. I couldn't have been happier.

One night I got called in for this guy by his friend.

Imagine my surprise when that guy ended up being ol' goody two-shoes Mark Cohen. The sweetest guy in my class. And according to his roommate, asexual. Instead of sex and a place to crash, I got two friends and a place to live. Mark was sweet. Roger was hilarious, not to mention hot in that brooding artist sorta way. It was groovy.

One day I met this girl combing the streets. She was wicked hot. And I swing both ways, man, free love, remember? We dropped acid together and made love in an alleyway. I brought her home.

Roger was a killjoy. The brooding thing was dragging me down! But, to save my ass, I told him she was for Mark. She thought he was cute, so it all worked out. The guys went out a lot, and the girls...well, we stayed in a lot.

Maureen was quite the drama queen. It was sexy. But beyond that, she was beautifully vulnerable in the right hands. I knew her better than Mark did, that's for damn certain. I'm sure that I pleasured her far more than Mark ever could. He had a premature ejaculation problem. It was so cute.

Maureen doesn't have a commitment problem like they think. She just doesn't love Mark. It's hard to commit when you're not in love. I should've broken it off with Roger a long time ago. I know that, but I am a coward. I don't like confrontation. Plus, being the broody artist type that he is, he might've killed himself or something stupid, and I couldn't deal with that. Once I killed and ant and cried for a week.

I'm afraid of the way that I feel about Maureen. I've never been in love or obsessed with anything or anyone before. I've also never felt as important as I do when I am around her. She makes me feel needed. I like that feeling.

She hates the fact that I'm a junkie. I would stop, except that would piss Roger off, and I'm afraid of him when he gets mad. He goes into these rages...I know he doesn't mean to, but he has a lot of physical strength, and he isn't afraid to use it. I blame his father for beating him.

She screams and yells and cries and begs me to quit, and it breaks my heart. I want to, God knows I want to...I'd do anything to keep from making her cry, but I'm not strong enough to do it alone and I don't want to piss Roger off.

She tells me I'll get AIDS. She'd die if that happened. And, I mean, of course I would too...but come on!

I tell her she'll get AIDS from sleeping around. She tells me there's no such thing as a hypodermic condom. She's right, and I know it.

She kisses me desperately, tears streaming down her cheeks, her entire body shaking with pain and sorrow. She tells me this will be the last time we sleep together until I get clean. It's more than I can bear.

It's the most raw, passionate sex I have ever had.

It the best way I could say goodbye.

My heart bleeds.


End file.
